The Padova Pearls (Harlequin Presents #2697)

The early June evening was damp and overcast, prematurely dark. Sophia Jordan, a plastic carrier bag in her hand, a stone-coloured mac belted round her slim waist, was hurrying home. Back to the ground floor flat in Roleston Square, Belgravia, she had shared with her late father, Peter.The thought of the empty flat still filled her with sadness for though her father had been quite ill for the past year, his death, some twelve weeks earlier, had in the end been sudden and unexpected and had left her bereft and lonely.Old Mrs Caldwell, a widow who owned the large house in Roleston Square and, along with her niece, Eva, occupied the flat across the hallway, had understood how she felt and been very kind.Just that morning when Sophia had knocked at her door to enquire what shopping she needed, grey-haired and stooped, cheerful in spite of her arthritis, the old lady had urged, 'Come across after work, dearie, and we'll have some supper together.'Though with Eva being away on that special course,' she had added, 'I'm afraid you'll have to do the cooking, if you don't mind?''Of course I don't mind. Is there anything in particular you'd like me to cook?''Would it be any trouble to make a paella?'Stooping to stroke the marmalade cat that was winding sinuously around her ankles, Sophia said, 'No trouble at all.''Wonderful!' the old lady had cried enthusiastically. 'I haven't had a paella since Arthur took me to Spain on holiday. Eva dislikes all rice dishes.''Then I'll do the shopping on my way home tonight, and pop across as soon as I've changed.'Looking delighted, Mrs Caldwell had promised, 'I'll have the table set ready.'Handing Sophia a list and some money, she'd added, 'It'll be lovely to have your company and a freshly cooked meal.'On hearing about Sophia's plans for the evening, David Renton, international art dealer and owner of A VolontÉ, the prestigious gallery where she worked, had suggested, 'Why don't you leave half an hour early? Joanna can cope, and you've put in a great deal of extra time over your father's exhibition.'Peter Jordan had been a very talented amateur painter and after his death, David--his long time friend--had remarked, 'His work is brilliant. It's a pity he was too modest to agree to me showing it.'I tried to persuade him by telling him that seeing his canvases would inspire other young amateur painters. But he still held back.''I really think he was coming round to your way of thinking,' Sophia had said. 'He was talking about it a few days before he died.''Then why don't we put on an exhibition of his work as a kind of memorial? A celebration of his life? If we include his miniatures, there should be enough to fill the balcony.'Liking the idea, Sophia had agreed.She had collected together all her father's paintings, except for a single canvas that hung in her bedroom.It was a head and shoulders portrait of a handsome young man with fair hair and dark eyes, and a mouth that, with its combination of asceticism and sensuality, had always affected her strongly.Since her childhood, the portrait had held a strange fascination for her, and as a teenager she had woven extravagantly romantic dreams around it.Knowing how much she liked it, her father had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday.His pleasure had been in the actual painting and, with little regard for his own talent, he had often given the finished portrait to his sitter. Which meant that there weren't all that many for a lifetime's work.However, David had collected what there were and taken them over to the gallery.There, Sophia had worked long hours to hang them, produce catalogues and organize the advance publicity. Now the one-man exhibition was ready and due to open the following morning.That off her mind, she had accepted David's kind offer and left the gallery at six-thirty, stopping at the local store to do the necessary shopping.It was FrWilkinson, Lee is the author of 'The Padova Pearls (Harlequin Presents #2697)', published 2008 under ISBN 9780373126972 and ISBN 0373126972.